Ill Gotten Gains
by Biancaneve
Summary: “The most convincing lies contained a grain of truth.” Early S2 one-shot, a few weeks before Allan is uncovered, inspired by the blood-money scene in 2-06. Money and mushrooms; love, luck and lies. AllanDjaq.


**Author's note: This is set between episodes 2-03 and 2-04. All my other fics are much later in the season so this was my first chance to write anything with more than a hint of past-AllanDjaq, and it was fun. Hope you enjoy it too!**

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**Ill-Gotten Gains**

Until a year or so ago, Allan A-Dale's fingers had spent a fair portion of most days reaching into places his eyes couldn't see and finding things his mind had not expected. The contents of people's pockets and purses ranged from the mundane to the completely mad. Coins, keys, knives and knotted string; nosegays of dried herbs against the pestilence, and filthy snot-rags against the cold; half-eaten pies and half-rotten fishheads. Human teeth that he sold on as saints' relics – that was probably what they had been bought as in the first place, and there was even a chance it was true. And then there was that long-haired old nutcase in the marketplace in Rochdale, with a tame rat in his pocket that had given new meaning to the term "caught red-handed", sinking its teeth into Allan's forefinger so hard it drew blood.

This was nothing in comparison, his laden fist burrowing into the damp leaf litter and meeting with nothing more remarkable than the prickly graze of a pine-cone against his knuckles and the clammy recoil of an earthworm slithering out of his path. _There, that should do it -_

"What are you doing down there?"

The mild inquiry made him drop his treasure faster than any angry shout from a mark had ever done, more afraid of being caught with these earnings than with anything he had stolen in his life. He straightened up, and turned to raise a hand in greeting as a small, dark figure came down the rise towards him. Choosing to ignore the quizzical set of her brows, he decided to act as if her words had been a salutation rather than a genuine question, and responded with an easy grin. "Djaq! How was the Locksley run?"

She gave her pragmatic assessment with a shrug. "The people are still poor. Our sacks are still not full enough to feed them." She shook the two empty ones in her hand for effect, before continuing with affectionate exasperation, "Of course, Much just had to raise their hopes by saying we would have more for them after tomorrow, as though this job was certain to succeed. And Nottingham?"

"Yeah, the same. Well, except for Much," he added as an afterthought. "But not to worry, eh? Sheriff's run o' luck's gotta break soon." It would not break tomorrow, though, that he did know for certain; but neither, he reminded himself, would the run of "luck" that had lately kept the gang and the Sheriff's guards from crossing paths and swords in the forest, and perhaps being hurt or worse in the process.

"Allah willing. Did you drop something?" She nodded towards the oak tree where he had been kneeling moments before.

"No, no." Eager to get her away from that spot, he placed a friendly hand on her shoulder and began to steer her back up the hill. "I thought I'd seen some mushrooms there... thought they might be good for dinner."

"Dinner?" she repeated, as though it was some strange foreign word she had never heard before. "When did you last help with the food?"

"When did you?" he retorted, and earned a good-natured elbow in the ribs for his troubles. "Steady on, I'm not complaining, I haven't forgotten the last time you cooked. Thought I'd do Much a favour, that's all."

"Do Much a favour? Now I know you are either sick, or you are feeling guilty about something. What is it?" Djaq's voice was as deadpan as her lilting Saracen accent allowed, and Allan stopped and stiffened, his fingers digging into her arm.

"Nothing. What do you mean?" he demanded quickly – too quickly, he realised too late.

"Allan!" At once amused and baffled, she extracted herself from his painful grip. "Since when do you only understand jokes if they start with the words 'I'm not being funny'?"

He joined her in laughing at his stupidity, though only he knew its full depths. It was ridiculous – the great Allan A-Dale, veteran of a hundred scams, acting as jumpy as a greenhorn on his first job. He knew damn well what it was, of course. It was Djaq. His mouth was his greatest weapon, but around her it often felt like a huge black cave, gaping open to reveal a cavernous darkness piled high with his most shameful secrets. Every time he spoke, he had the sense that she could see past his lying tongue, straight through the back of his throat and into his mind.

_Idiot. __Settle down. _He made his voice casual. "I'm not bein' funny, but if that was meant to be a joke, you need to work on your comic delivery, mate."

"Hah!" She snorted in playful derision, but she was still regarding him curiously, his overreaction not quite forgotten, her skin still smarting from the pressure of his nails through her thin shirt. Uncomfortably aware of her piercing eyes resting on his face, Allan moved almost unconsciously to shield the tree from her line of sight, as if the silver coins were sprouting from its branches rather than buried among its roots.

"Look, if you want the truth," he said reluctantly, despising himself for the ease with which the excuse came to him,"you gave me a fright, sneakin' up on me like that. The mushrooms... You're always sayin' we should eat more vegetables. I wanted to... surprise you."

Allan's embarrassment was unfeigned as he stretched his arms and clasped them awkwardly behind his head. The most convincing lies contained a grain of truth, if not in the words then in the unspoken sentiment behind them, and if he looked at it that way, this was at once a falsehood and the most honest thing he'd ever said to Djaq with a straight face.

Now she looked stunned instead of suspicious; little wonder, for he was a man far more inclined to glib words than thoughtful actions. He shared with her the finest of his jokes and banter, but it had never before crossed his mind to offer her a few paltry handfuls of mushrooms. What did it say about him, he wondered bitterly, that he was quicker to think of it as a lie with which to deceive Djaq than as an honest gesture to please her? He wished that he was telling the truth, that he really deserved the way she was smiling at him now – or rather, trying not to smile. It was barely even visible, just a faint upward curve of her lips as if she was fighting to keep them still, and yet it somehow seemed a far richer payment for his words than the unguarded merriment that was her usual response when he said something funny or teasing.

Djaq was swift to guide the conversation back into familiar territory, of course. The delay was a few heartbeats at most, before she summoned the arch look that made Allan's eyes flick instinctively a few inches south of her face, so striking was the reminder of a clinging gold dress that had left a lot less to the imagination than the clothes she now wore. "And what's in it for you?" she asked in a tone that matched her expression.

Relieved that she had neither caught his deception nor thrown his admission back in his face, he grinned and spread his palms before him, assuming the air of a humble travelling tinker. "Well, it was all on spec, o' course, milady, but I can think of a few things. Why, what are you offering?"

She considered for a moment. "The pleasure of my company while you look?"

"Oi, I thought we were talking reward, not punishment!" Even as he pretended to demur, they were already walking side by side away from the path that would lead them back to camp.

"Punishment would be leaving you alone with nobody to listen to you talk," Djaq laughed. "You are lucky I am feeling merciful."

_Yeah. Luckier than you know. _He wondered for a moment how far her mercy would extend if she found out the truth; he doubted there would be enough vegetables in the world to buy his absolution, but the thought was gone before they were even out of sight of the clearing.

Today, fortune was on his side: his secret was safe, his savings well hidden, and there were still hours before dinner. With his companion in such high spirits, an afternoon exchanging imaginary mushrooms for real ones was beginning to look like a very pleasant prospect, and if he hadn't come by it entirely fairly... well, the same could be said of most of the good things in Allan's life. That had never stopped him from enjoying it.

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**This was originally going to be a longer one-shot, with an angsty second half based on Djaq's POV in 2-05 up to the "blood-money" scene in 2-06. But now I prefer the way this bit works on its own as a little piece of dark-edged fluff, so I'll keep the rest for another fic. **

**As always, reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. :)**


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